


Saved

by aww_writing_no



Series: Winterhawk Week 2019 [4]
Category: Marvel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:28:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aww_writing_no/pseuds/aww_writing_no
Summary: When Clint's trapped at a gala in need of rescue, Bucky looks like an ideal savior.For Winterhawk Week Day Four.





	Saved

“Okay, I take that back,” Clint told Natasha. “This is so much worse than that time in Abidjan. At least there I didn’t have to wear a tux.” 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Are you really comparing Stark’s charity gala to the week we spent undercover in a war zone?” 

“Nat, this is a war zone!” Clint hissed under his breath. “Have you seen the way those old ladies are looking at me?” He was pretty sure one of them had winked at him earlier. It may have been the single most terrifying sight he’d ever seen, and as Nat had helpfully reminded him, he’d been undercover in a war zone. Militants with assault rifles couldn’t hold a candle to old women with checkbooks, though. 

“Those old ladies are the ones who put up the money to repair the city every time we destroy it,” Natasha said with a long-suffering sigh. “You’re hopeless. I’m going to dance.” 

“Don’t leave me!” Clint whined, trailing after her. He did not trust the way some of these old ladies were looking at him. He had a suspicious feeling his partner’s codename applied to a lot of the women in this room. 

When Nat offered Steve a hand to dance (and he took it, the traitor!) Clint started looking around desperately. There was an old lady wearing green lace and the biggest pearl necklace Clint had ever seen making her way over with a predatory grin on her face. He needed to get out of there and fast, but Stark had expressly forbidden him to physically leave the premises until 11pm. He felt like some kind of reverse Cinderella, trapped at a ball he couldn’t leave. 

Spying Bucky lurking in the corner with a glass of champagne, Clint hustled over and grabbed his hand. As he felt all the plates in Bucky’s hand shift and Clint’s own hand was held in a vise-like grip, he realized this may have been a slight mistake. 

Bucky turned his head to stare at him, eyes sharp and angry, but the hand relaxed. “What the hell? Are you trying to get your hand broken?” he hissed under his breath. 

Clint shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time, but no. I need you to save me.” 

“Save you?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow and looking around incredulously. “Save you from what? I don’t see anything attacking you right now.” 

“From the old ladies,” Clint hissed, stepping closer to Bucky to whisper in his ear. He felt the other man tense, probably unused to having his space invaded from anyone besides Steve. Clint might have felt guilty about that if he wasn’t so desperate for a rescue. 

Before Clint could process what was going on, Bucky had an arm wrapped around Clint’s waist and spun them both in a circle. 

“The older blonde wearing green?” Bucky murmured seriously in Clint’s ear. 

Clint nodded, unsure what was going on but not exactly complaining about Bucky’s embrace. Though in hindsight, it may have been a mistake to ask the Winter Soldier to save him from the crowd. Bucky probably wasn’t going to kill anyone, but Clint was pretty sure Tony would still be mad if Bucky maimed any of the donors at his party. 

Bucky gave a sharp nod before dropping the arm around Clint’s waist and stalking over to the lady in green. Clint’s eyes widened in alarm, but they widened even more as Bucky stopped in front of the lady and took her hand, giving it a kiss as he bowed. 

The lady grinned, clearly delighted. 

Bucky grinned back. Clint had always heard the Bucky Barnes of old was a ladies' man, but this was the first time he’d gotten to see it firsthand. Bucky gestured to the dance floor and Clint watched as the pair waltzed across the room, Bucky carefully guiding her around the crowded dance floor. 

Engrossed in watching Bucky, Clint didn’t notice someone coming coming to stand next to him until they cupped a hand around his elbow. He startled, nearly dropping the plate of canapes he’d snatched off a waiter’s tray as they passed. 

“You look wistful, darling,” a weathered-looking old woman with what looked like rhinestones glued into her updo said as she rubbed Clint’s elbow. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance?” 

Clint blanched. “I, uhh, can’t dance,” he stammered. 

If anything, the woman’s eyes seemed to brighten at that. “Neither could my husband Eustace, God rest his soul, but we always managed all right.” 

Where was Bucky when he needed him? “No, uhh,” Clint stalled, desperate to come up with a plausible lie, “I, umm, sprained my ankle having a snowball fight with Falcon this morning,” he said, hoping Sam would forgive him the lie.

“Oh you poor dear,” the woman said, moving her hand up Clint’s arm and giving it a squeeze. “Shouldn’t you be sitting down or something?” 

Clint was trying to come up with another lie when Bucky materialized in front of them. 

“Clint, are you monopolizing the attention of this gorgeous young lady when you know you can’t dance on that ankle?” 

The woman tittered as Clint silently thanked whatever gods were listening for Bucky’s super soldier hearing. 

“May I have this dance?” Bucky asked the woman, holding his hand palm up as he gave a deep bow from the waist, never breaking eye contact. 

It continued that way for the rest of the evening - Bucky deftly whisking away all the women who showed an interest in Clint. This was a side of Bucky Clint had never seen and he was frankly impressed. He also wished he hadn’t made up the lie about his ankle, because watching Bucky out on the dance floor made him want to join in. Damn, that man could dance. 

The clock struck eleven and Clint made no move to leave, entranced by the sway of Bucky’s hips as he did the foxtrot with a lady in blue lace. They seemed to fit together as if they’d been partnered for years, but so had every other woman Bucky had danced with. 

Clint wanted to be that lady. 

The clock struck twelve and Clint was still there, watching Bucky like some kind of ballroom voyeur. Most of the guests had left, but some of the younger and more adventurous crowd remained. Bucky was currently dancing with someone with electric blue hair and a tailored suit that probably cost more than most of the cars Clint had owned. 

The last guest left around 2am, and Clint was still there. 

Bucky walked over, the swagger in his step belying the fact he’d spent the last five hours dancing nearly nonstop. 

“Hey doll,” he said with a languorous drawl, “do you consider yourself sufficiently saved?” 

Clint blinked. He’d been so entranced he’d forgotten why Bucky was dancing with all those people in the first place. “Uhhhh,” he replied helpfully. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Bucky asked before muttering “Lucky cat,” under his breath. 

Clint nearly choked. 

“Come on guys!” Tony yelled, sweeping in from across the room. “Stop making heart eyes at each other and get a room already!” 

You know, Clint thought, that actually wasn’t a bad idea.

**Author's Note:**

> I do love a Bucky with some swagger. (And so do all the little old ladies.)


End file.
